


Safety in Revenge

by Sarai



Series: Stars from Home [6]
Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-02-27 04:49:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 18,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2679776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarai/pseuds/Sarai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An external threat forces the X-Men and Brotherhood to work together, but secrets are kept on both sides and digging up the past is never easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**New York - 1963**

Ten o'clock at night found the school quiet, classrooms shut, lights off, and students mercifully asleep (or quietly pretending)—and Charles Xavier seated at the kitchen table, measuring out tea with care. He leveled off the spoon and emptied it into a teacup, then dipped it again into the jar of loose tea. On the stove behind him, the kettle approached boiling.

"What's the base?"

"Darjeeling."

Across from him sat Ruth Bat-Seraph. In many ways, they were opposites. He kept his appearance tidy and professional, while Ruth lived in jeans and had long since given up efforts to control her hair. She was as loud and expressive as he was quiet and reserved. His mutant ability was mental, while the sharpness in her head—split evenly between her mind and her tongue—had nothing to do with her supernatural strength, agility, and endurance.

"I see. And what is it you mix with it, is that cardamom?"

"Different things, but this is cardamom, yes," Charles replied, emptying a third spoonful into the teacup.

It was easier to focus on the teacup, mostly because he did not have all manner of inappropriate thoughts about the teacup. Ruth, on the other hand…

Continuing, as he dipped the spoon into another jar and once more carefully leveled it off, "I'm thinking about trying cacao." He said all of this with the sincerity of a man who did not realize the minutia of his interests might not interest everyone else.

"I wonder who that might be appealing to," she retorted, laughter in her voice.

For years, Charles avoided returning to his home in New York. He could give countless reasons, claim a rather quieter than average wanderlust, cite the opportunities in his field abroad, but the truth was much simpler: he did not want to go home.

It never really felt like home. For so long he had two things, his education and his sister, and only with Raven beside him had he been able to return. And after she left, it turned empty again.

The amount he despaired in the following weeks embarrassed him now. Charles considered himself an independent person, but losing her proved otherwise. He needed her. Losing his sister, his legs, and in a way his education wholly undid him. He had always expected to become a professor both because it was the best way to continue with research and because he knew no life without school.

Slowly, others brought him back, Ruth among them. She, too, had a jar in front of her, but hers was an old jam jar, rinsed and cleaned. She twisted the lid off carefully. Catching his eyes on her, she grinned. "We do not use enough jam for me to break another jar!"

"We may, actually," Charles replied, remembering the previous jar, which Ruth gripped too tightly and shattered. Of course at the time she had Laurie and Ororo fighting, Doug looking loudly terrified, and Scott and Alex either fighting or play-fighting—it was difficult to say which with them—but the important thing was that she had been distracted.

This time she twisted the jar open without breaking it and tipped out folded slips of paper. She began to sort them.

"I thought you said it would be random."

Ruth grinned. "I lied."

He laughed at her matter-of-fact response.

"Why are none of these yours?"

Ruth was the only person in the house with any range of cooking knowledge. Charles knew his teas, Scott could make pancakes, and he didn't want to know how many drink recipes Alex and Sean could recite from memory, but Ruth could actually cook. That meant real food—rather than pizza, Chinese, and peanut butter sandwiches.

He shook his head. "It was wonderful of you to let the children have input, but I have enough appreciation for what you do. I won't ask more."

"So you tell me more often how amazing I am," Ruth suggested—there were so many ways Charles could say that… "and also what you like to eat. Somehow I cannot imagine you are intimately familiar with—" she checked the paper "—sloppy joes."

"No, I don't even know what a sloppy joe is," Charles admitted.

She raised an eyebrow.

"You do?"

"Of course. Now I want to make sloppy joes, I want to see you eat sloppy joe. And mud pies."

Since of course this was a joke, Charles laughed.

"Do your worst," he invited.

Ruth responded with a wicked, toothy grin promising just that.

Oh, dear. Was she serious?

Although many in the mansion were reliable in their own way, only Ruth was really close to Charles in age, and her straightforward, trustworthy presence put him at ease. Time spent with her was always the most relaxing part of his day—aching, the way he found himself drawn to her, but relaxing nonetheless—even today, with a pressing concern at the back of his mind.

So it was with nothing but fondness that he told her, "I'd like some time to myself this evening."

The kettle whistled. It was the worst time in the conversation, but Charles emptied the kettle into the teapot, refilled the kettle and put it back on the stove. It took long enough for Ruth to leave, yet she chose to remain.

He was glad. Their conversation would have felt unfinished.

"Good night, then."

"Good night."

She squeezed his hand gently. "I am a shout away if you change your mind."

Ruth's mind was impossible for Charles to read. He sometimes understood the thoughts of foreign children, but her thoughts were too complex for him to overcome the language barrier. Since she rarely said anything she didn't mean and felt no need to keep her thoughts to herself, he had learned to take her at her word.

Alone, Charles listened to the sounds of the kitchen, the hum of the refrigerator and the murmur of a not-yet-boiling kettle. He spent little time here, growing up. Now it was in many ways the center of the house, a natural result of a home filled with teenagers and people like Alex who, while not an actual teenager, had a comparable metabolism.

The kettle began to whistle as he heard footsteps approach. Charles tipped the teapot over the sink, letting steam cloud the window above it as hot water poured down the drain. It was all routine for him, no thought required as the mix of Darjeeling and cardamom went into the now-empty pot, newly boiled water over it, plastic hourglass flipped.

As the sands poured out, Charles reached for the teacups. Some things had been reorganized since the incident. They didn't leave everything lying around, but Charles, who could not reach the cupboards, had access to the basics. He could fix a cup of tea or a bowl of cereal without asking for help.

Behind him, the footsteps stopped.


	2. A Little Small Talk

"Hello, Erik."

It had been so long. All that time Charles wondered what would happen when he spoke to Erik again, the circumstances. He never wondered whether or not Erik would apologize for crippling him because he knew Erik could never accept responsibility for it, but he wondered whether Erik would look at him differently.

Now, Erik just said, "You knew I was coming." He made it into an accusation, like Charles had no right to know who was in his own home.

"Yes, I did," the response was measured and even. "Care for a cup of tea?"

"I know you've seen them, too, I can feel the metal in this house." Erik never was one for small talk. He was annoyed, Charles heard that and in a way responded as he did because of it: he said nothing.

The men had not yet looked at one another. Charles didn't have another dramatic turn in him. It was more of a decided, calm three-point-turn. Besides, the hourglass was running out.

"You knew I would come," Erik repeated.

Charles agreed, "I felt your mind." That meant Erik let him. Charles recognized that. With the telepathy-blocking helmet, Erik guarded his mind from Charles, sharing only what he wanted shared. Had it really come to this, a powerplay between them?

"Where is it?" Erik asked.

"On anger and revenge, as always."

"Not my mind."

The timer ran out and Charles flipped it over again. It was a two-minute timer and four, he found, brewed a perfect tea: strong taste, minimal bitterness. He watched the stream of sand begin again and sent his telepathy out. His fingers tightened, gripping his wheelchair to keep from touching his forehead as he usually did. He didn't want Erik knowing as he did this.

"How's Raven?"

"She's fine."

"She could have come."

He wished she had. Raven only left because Charles told her to go. She would have stayed, albeit unhappily, and he thought he understood that there was no rejection in it. Hopefully she hadn't stayed away out of anger with him.

"This is _business_ , Charles."

"You've come into my home in the middle of the night, I think a few pleasantries can be permitted. Will you have a cup of tea?"

"You invited me."

He had, after all, left the door unlocked.

"I welcomed you."

"You couldn't have stopped me."

Oh, Erik. Always so angry, always so proud. Would he truly have broken into a friend's home simply to prove that he could?

"Have a drink with me, my friend."

They were, for a time, quiet. Charles set the strainer and poured tea into each cup in turn. He brought both to the table and watched the steam rise as he waited for Erik to join him. He didn't enjoy it, but it they were going to vie for dominance, he would not allow Erik to have the upper hand. Not here.

Finally, Erik sat down and took the second cup. "What are you trying to keep me from?"

"I am not trying to keep you from anything. We found the… creature… or it found us last weekend. Hank and Ruth, who you haven't met, made short work of it." A little small talk would have been nice. Erik looked well—older, drawn, but well. Where had they been? What were they up to? "You've seen one, too."

He nodded. "You've been recruiting."

"You haven't? I haven't lost my passion for this work. Mutants need the chance to be safe, to learn about their abilities, to be protected, sometimes. Hank of course managed to modify the scanners to deploy defensively. We're cloaked until they discover something better."

"And they will. They will discover something better, they always do," Erik warned.

Charles sighed. Yes, he knew, but he did not assume as Erik did that this was the way of the world. He did not assume baser natures could not be overcome.

"Why did you come here?"

"Now, Charles, I could almost think you weren't happy to see me." Erik's voice oozed sarcasm like rancid pus, telling Charles everything he needed to know about Erik's perception of their relationship now, the reason he arrived so determined to treat this as business, why he treated this like a struggle for dominance.

Engaging that struggle would only encourage him. Charles understood that. If he wanted to shut this down, he did not need to win.

He did the simple, necessary thing: he let the fight go out of him and told the truth. "Of course I'm happy to see you, Erik."

If only Raven were here. He would have been happy to see her, too, he was so worried—but she was Raven. She wouldn't keep things distant and professional.

Did Erik tell her she wasn't welcome or neglect to tell her with whom he would be visiting that evening? Or hadn't she wanted to see him at all? Secrets and lies. Charles swallowed his disappointment. Over the past year, he had learned that there were better ways than telepathy to influence others.

He thought of the students. Anger or disappointment would make Laurie or Ororo toughen in quiet (or not so quiet) defiance, or Scott cringe and tremble. Doug was a little more centered. Since he did not want to shut down or defeat the children, Charles was learning to focus on them rather than their actions.

No, Laurie, I'm not angry with you for breaking the plate, but I know you can be more careful.

No, Scott, I'm not disappointed in you for failing the math test, but I'd like both of us to work harder for next time.

_No, Erik, I'm not disappointed that you seem to have forgotten our friendship. I know it's an act and I'm sorry you feel the need to behave this way._

It really did hurt Charles more to recognize what had happened, was happening to someone he truly considered a friend.

"I need Hank," Erik said. "I can find where these things are coming from, but he'll know how best to defeat them, if there are records to be searched he's the one to search. He should care about this. Those things are looking for us, Hank should care."

Charles considered that. He knew Hank both cared about the situation and understood the metal monsters, but what happened on that beach hadn't been easy for any of them. The thought did what Erik's presence hadn't. It brought back those memories.

Only, for once, Charles didn't think about the coldness his mind created to cover his inability to feel his legs, or what it was like to squint up at the sky when he couldn't turn his head away properly. He thought about Hank. When everyone had left, he was going into shock, Moira was wrapped up in emotion, Hank was the one calmly telling everyone not to move Charles. He prevented untold further damage by doing so.

He hadn't been calm, though, had he? His voice had been strained. He had been controlled, more aware than perhaps anyone else.

"I'll let them know that whoever wants to go with you—"

"I'm not asking the entire little 'team'."

"Yes, you are," Charles replied with calm certainty. "If you want to work with me, that will be the arrangement. I don't tell Hank what to do. I'll give him the offer, and the others. Can you agree to that? We work together toward a common goal."

Erik considered. Watching him, Charles knew that some part of his friend considered using might equals right and he silently urged Erik not to make that choice.

"What if I ask Hank alone, approach him separately?"

 _Good luck_ , Charles thought wryly. Hank was not yet ready to be seen. He rarely left the grounds.

"Then I would ask him, as his friend, to bring the matter to me," Charles said. He would not command Hank, but he knew how Hank would respond.

Erik scowled. He warned, "Time is a factor."

Charles touched his forehead, telepathically seeking the other adults in the house, waking those who were sleeping and giving the information necessary. He told them it was about the robot they found the past weekend, who they would be working with, that no one was under any obligation.

"They're on their way."


	3. Retaliation

"So this is your visitor. Hello." She extended her hand to Erik. "Ruth Bat-Seraph."

"Erik Lehnsherr."

Ruth had a way of dressing in a manner that both was comfortable and drew attention to the curvier parts of her body and Charles found himself unhappy with the way Erik's eyes lingered on her chest. Then he realized Erik wasn't staring at her breasts. He was staring at her necklace.

Before, before the goodness in Erik's heart was locked in a steel box and drowned beneath a bitter ocean, he had a large family. Many of the things Charles saw Ruth do were familiar only from glimpses of Erik's memories, like the way her hands moved over the candles on Friday night.

Her name suggested she was Jewish. The star around her neck confirmed it. How long since Erik spoke with someone of the same heritage, since he thought of that symbol as something to be worn proudly and voluntarily?

And, a bigger question, could Erik work with Ruth?

Ruth nodded to Erik, perhaps sensing the tension but whether by choice or not ignoring it. She grabbed a handful of Oreos and leaned against the counter. If their shared cultured proved too much for Erik… no, Charles wouldn't think about that.

Hank arrived before the silence became too awkward. He broke the silence, but made it no less awkward: "Uh, hey."

Without even attempting conversation, he set on the stove what looked like an aluminum geometry project.

"Please tell me there's enough for two," Sean chimed from the doorway, giving Erik an evil look.

"Is that really necessary?" Erik asked.

Hank nodded to Sean's request. He was, as ever, Hank: he would not be involved.

He didn't need to be. Speaking up for himself wasn't the easiest thing for Sean, either, but now he had outrage enough: "You pushed me off a satellite! I could've died!"

"But you didn't, did you?" Erik asked.

True. Sean had flown instead and now he loved nothing more than flight. Hypothetically, there was simply no knowing if he would have discovered that ability without Erik to put him in actual danger, but Erik had shown that he would take risks no matter that someone might splat rather than soar.

Ruth asked, "He pushed you off a satellite?"

"I was helping him," Erik snapped. "Charles, who is this?"

"Well, if he does it again, I will break his arm," she offered to Sean. "If you want."

Erik narrowed his eyes. "I'd like to see you try."

Before Ruth replied, Charles interrupted both of them with, "Oh, go to your corners." It baffled Erik, but had Ruth, Hank, and Sean grinning. Charles smiled, but it was a mask. When they first went into a melee situation, he was in control. Would Erik lead now? Would Sean follow him? Would Ruth?

"Is this everyone?" Erik asked.

"Nearly."

Hank was pouring coffee by the time Alex arrived, red-eyed. Alex took one look at Erik, snickered at the helmet, and told Hank, "Thanks, Beast." He hadn't used that name in a while, but he understood the situation.

"Erik has seen the robots," Charles said, turning attention to the most important matter. "Same as we have. This makes the matter a good deal more serious and confirms what we feared—that it wasn't just one. Someone is designing these machines to hunt mutants. Erik and I are in agreement that wherever these things are being manufactured, we must find them and put a stop to it."

"Retaliation," Erik clarified. "We put the same fear in them that they put into us. They found us and we will find them; they tried to harm us…"

"No one is to be harmed," Charles replied. "No death. No killing."

The others nodded.

"I could change any other, uh, devices they have," Hank offered. "Make them not work, change their data. If we could get in and out without them knowing, we could stop this."

Charles wondered how many of them were thinking about the little girl who made lock picks out of paper clips. He certainly was, and sending her with them was absolutely out of the question. She was only thirteen years old. One day, however—one day, if it came to that, Ororo Munroe would be a formidable opponent.

Erik shook his head. "They need to know we were there, they must be stopped."

"This seems simple enough," Ruth weighed in. "We go at night, we destroy the robots, Hank does his information-gathering. If we can clear the building, Alex brings it down; if we cannot, the building stands. No one dies. Yes?" She popped another Oreo in her mouth.

"I should be able to design something to block the signal. If they built those things to track us," Hank explained, "they knew we're here and what we are, they'll have some sort of alarm system. The range won't be as wide as the shield we use here, of course."

"Tomorrow evening, is that enough time?" Erik asked.

"It's not ideal."

"This needs to happen soon."

"Tomorrow it is," Hank replied, backing down from confrontation. He was useful in a combat situation. Interpersonal situations were less his forte and Erik knew that. "I'll see what I can do."

Ruth wanted to know, "How will we find them?"

"Leave that to me." Erik's response was dismissive and Ruth clearly did not appreciate this, but she let it pass. "I'll be here at nine."

"At the gate," Charles replied.

He did not send out a telepathic message, trusting the others to understand his reasoning. Only Sean had a moment of uncertainty. He started to ask, but only half a syllable emerged before Alex elbowed him. Light dawned and Sean's mouth snapped shut.

Somehow, so quickly, the conversation was over. Tomorrow, they would properly investigate the mechanical monsters that first appeared the previous weekend. Good: no one liked understanding how Hank always felt. They _needed_ that information.

Erik stood and strode out of the house, leaving silence in his wake.

"I'll do the dishes in the morning," Hank said. It was his week for washing up.

"I got you covered," Alex said. Then, off a somewhat uncomprehending look, "I'll do 'em, you just build that signal jammer."

Hank nodded his understanding. "Thanks."

"Alex," Charles said, "a word please." He employed his superhuman ability to use the word 'please' to clarify that this was not a request.

Alex hung back as the others left the room. There were half-hearted murmurs that might have been 'good night'. Too much information had been shared in too little time and they were all still very much in their thoughts, sorting through.

When they were alone, Charles began, "You know what this is about."

"Yeah, I think so."

The students changed how he interacted with other people. Before, he had tried to guide the others while being, as much as possible, their friend. He saw now that it wouldn't work. Guiding someone meant by definition not being their friend. What he was about to say wasn't something Alex wanted to hear.

"If I think you are anything shy of completely sober tomorrow, you will stay here," Charles told him. He appreciated Alex's awareness, but showing up to an impromptu meeting stoned was one thing. On a mission, it was unacceptable.

He saw the thought in Alex's mind that the blaze had worn off, saw the twitch in his jaw as Alex wanted to argue—and appreciated that he stayed quiet.


	4. Someone Left Behind

The lab was quiet the following afternoon as Hank finished his second signal jammer. Scott sat quietly, his math homework neglected in favor of watching Hank work. The lab's third occupant was oblivious to both of them: a white mouse ran on its wheel.

When he first designed the jammer, Hank thought nothing of portability, only of range, needing to know that he covered the entire house and a decent amount of the surrounding area. He theorized hopefully that the robots only sensed clusters of mutants, not solitary mutants, since Alex and Sean worked, Ruth ran errands, and Scott frequented the library—and none had been attacked while alone or in pairs.

With nine mutants under one (albeit extensive) roof, they needed something bigger than knowing Ruth and Hank could tackle these creatures. Everyone was on edge, tossing and turning at night. Even Hank, who prided himself on his analytical, scientific mind, felt fear creep in.

Only Ruth seemed immune. For the rest, those not military trained and indestructible, the promise of Hank's machine was little comfort.

"This is a signal jammer."

Scott would hover around the lab for ages without asking any questions. He was the quietest and possibly the dimmest of the children, though he achieved more than Laurie because he tried very hard. Today he had watched Hank without a word for half an hour.

So Hank felt an explanation was due. Plus that was about as long as he could go without talking about science.

"It's similar to the one working around the school, but without as great a range. That's partly why it's so much smaller. It's also—the technology in that device was fascinating. Basically, what I need to do here is transmit an identical frequency. It's like a transistor radio, only not emitting any sound you or I can hear."

Scott considered this, then asked, "How do you know it works?"

"I don't," Hank admitted. Actually, he didn't know if the other one worked, either. He didn't know if he had built a device that truly protected them or lulled them into a false sense of security. But he was Hank McCoy. He had designed planes and cloth suitable for superheroics; he built a moka pot and an alarm clock and adapted key areas of the house for a paraplegic, all without leaving for research or materials.

"Why limit the range?"

"It's meant to be portable. Range doesn't matter as much for a personal device; they were only intended for the mission, but I think they'll prove useful. If you wanted to, you could take one when you went to the library."

When Scott asked his next question, Hank felt a moment of cold, the sort of thing someone else might experience after receiving a bad grade. Hank didn't receive bad grades. He had a knack for saying the perfect wrong thing though, like he had done just a moment ago.

"Mission?"

Not two minutes later in another part of the mansion, Charles looked at Laurie and tried not to sigh. She was sixteen years old and not masking her frustration so well as she thought. He preferred not to see this as failure, but that she tried so hard. Laurie had been a student at the Institute for only two weeks and already showed remarkable progress.

She had not progressed much with her ability, but she wanted to.

"Shall we try it once more?"

"It's not working as well anymore," Laurie replied. "Look, I'm trying, okay? But I know what you're doing. I'm not getting angry—why do I need to be angry, again?"

"Because you need to learn to separate your power from your emotions," Charles explained, not for the first time.

Laurie had the ability to project her feelings onto others, something that tended to happen most with strong feelings. It meant often keeping her separate from Ororo, who had a temper and a limit to her self-control. It also meant watching her around Sean after she accidentally projected feelings of physical attraction.

She blew at her bangs, not quite moving them out of her eyes. "Can we try it another way?"

"Do you have another idea to suggest?"

"No," she admitted, "but I don't feel like this one's working, either."

Charles opened his mouth to respond, then paused. He never really stopped using his telepathy, it was too powerful for that. He could minimize his attention to it, but he heard the tone in the thoughts of those nearby.

"Yes, perhaps you're right," he agreed. "I suppose we're finished, then."

He knew Laurie wouldn't object. She made an effort and he appreciated that, but she didn't actually like training. Good: she was on her way just as troubled thoughts approached. He didn't wait for the knock. "Come in, Scott."

Scott did. He took Laurie's recently vacated chair and began, "Hank told me about the mission."

Charles nodded, hiding the mix of surprise and frustration that welled in him. Really, he shouldn't have been either. Hank was an information sieve, an intellectual socialist although one didn't use such a word lightly in 1963. Scott and Hank spent so much time together it was inevitable that Scott would learn about this.

"Were you going to tell us?"

Honestly, he barely considered that. This was an adult concern, not something the children ought to be involved with. They had faced one of those awful machines once. Once was quite enough.

The silence became no answer and Scott's jaw twitched.

"I want to go."

"Out of the question."

"You said I made the right choices last weekend."

That was true. When the robot found them last weekend, it found the children. Ororo and Scott, whose powers were physical, did all they could against it, but they did so with Scott calling the shots. He kept his head, formulated plans of attack, and looked after the others.

"You did," Charles confirmed. That the children were in such a situation at all was unfortunate and wrong, but Scott behaved admirably. "This is in no way a reflection of your behavior."

"Is it because my gift isn't useful?" Scott asked. "Because Alex's won't be, either."

This wasn't about pride and it wasn't about revenge. Scott wanted to protect his brother.

"Hank's measured the, the, uh, energy levels every way he can think of. My powers were useless against that thing, and Alex's will be, too. If you won't send me, it's not right to send Alex."

Charles shook his head. "I am not sending Alex, I am giving him the option—"

"Then I want that option."

He tried to look at the positive in this situation. Yes, Scott was being annoying, but… well, Scott was being annoying. That was a considerable improvement over the jumpy creature Charles brought home nearly a year ago.

He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Scott. I understand you want to look after Alex, but this isn't a situation for young people. It's bad enough you were involved once; there's no excuse for a second time."

"If Alex is going, I'm going."

"You don't understand—"

"I do understand! I'm not a child!"

Charles had not said 'child'. He had deliberately not used that word. Since Scott raised the subject, "The person I am speaking with now is a child. He is thinking and behaving like a child." It would sting, but the point needed to be made. "You won't be going and that's all there is to it."

Scott absorbed all of this visibly. Being scolded for juvenile behavior hurt him, but his thoughts stayed on Alex, on his goal. His forehead creased and he brought his hand to his mouth then jerked it away before he started biting his thumbnail.

"Professor, please."

He knew he had lost. That much was apparent in his tone, the brokenness, something Charles understood very well.

"I know. It's not easy to be left behind." Particularly, it wasn't easy to go from being a leader to someone left behind with the children. Raven would be there. Erik. So many people he cared for, but at least this time it wasn't to face off against the gunships of two nations. "But they will come home. Do you understand me?"

"Yeah."

"Yes."

"Yes."

"Good. Do you trust me?"

Scott nodded. He didn't, really. He didn't trust anyone but himself—but if he could trust anyone, he would trust Charles.

"They will come home."


	5. Xavier Way

"What do you do before something like this?" Sean asked. He, Alex, Hank, and Ruth sat on the stairs in the late afternoon sunshine. They had only a few hours to go before the mission and little to do with that time. Coke and sunshine seemed like as good a choice as any.

"What did you do last time?" Ruth returned.

There was an uncomfortable silence, then Alex said, "Dunno about you guys, but I tossed and turned all night."

"Me too," Sean agreed.

In the following silence, they waited for Hank's answer. He didn't give it until both were staring. "Oh—me? Uh, I was doing this," and he held up his arms, furry as a cat's and colored to match the sky. "What about you, Ruth?"

"She wasn't there," Sean reminded him.

"Yeah, but Ruth's ex-IDF, right? You must've done this kinda stuff before," Alex reasoned.

"Everyone has his own idea of recreation," Ruth replied.

"What's yours?" Hank asked.

Ruth shrugged. "I have nothing to fear," she explained. "I am strong and fast and immune to bullets, and I heal. So, for me, this is easier." She picked up a bottle of Coke and sloshed some into her mouth. At first, she had been drinking beer, but stopped when she realized the others were pointedly sober.

None of them knew about Alex's sobriety ultimatum. Ruth's unusually quick metabolism meant a beer had little impact on her. A dozen might have been a problem. The others—including Alex—were too sensible and too tense to drink now.

"I always think Coca-Cola should be obscene," Hank mused.

Once more all eyes were on him. Sean voiced the question in everyone's mind: "What?"

"It has so many hard sounds—kuh, kuh, kuh," Hank explained.

Ruth nodded. "That makes sense."

"Like cocaine," Sean offered.

Predictably, Hank had an explanation for that. "That's because it comes from the same plant—or, used to. It used to have cocaine in it."

"Oh yeah?" Alex wondered.

"It did—but not since 1929, and even then, there was barely any cocaine."

"Hey, Twerp!" Alex called, switching subjects.

Like proper elitists, Charles's family had built a wall around the edges of their property. Scott ran along it every day. He would have run until he reached his starting point, the driveway, but Alex waved him over.

"Hey," he gasped.

He knew. It was written all over his face.

"What goes in hard and pink and comes out soft and wet?" Alex asked.

Scott's face was already red from exertion. It went redder as he all but winced at the question. "Sicko."

Alex chucked something at him. The object moved too quickly for Scott to see what it was, just a flash of sunlight and instinct making his hands clasp together. He examined it.

Scott groaned and Alex cracked up. "Who's the sicko now, sicko?"

"It's still you," Sean replied. He offered his hand and Scott high-fived him.

The silence crept in again, though, and there were an awful lot of eyes focused on shoes. Everyone wanted to say the right thing. Everyone believed there was a right thing to say. But the truth was, they were frightened for this mission. Even if they had known how to comfort each other, they didn't know how to offer something when they felt their need for it was greater.

Finally Scott remembered that he had homework he needed to do and mumbled something that might have been 'take care'.

Only a few seconds after Scott disappeared, Ruth remarked, "He does like his audience."

"Who?" Alex asked. Obviously not Scott. Him or Sean? Okay, Alex liked a little appreciation, but he didn't think he deserved a third-person freeze out for that.

"Erik."

"Was that a _cape_?" Sean asked, thinking of Erik's garb the previous night. "Erik wears a cape now?" He gave a low whistle, somewhere between derision and an outright implication of insanity. One thing was certain, Ruth was right about Erik liking an audience. Sean said as much.

"Some men like this, they want to be seen doing the right thing, they… it only matters if they are seen," Ruth said. "He has a sense of flair, would you say?"

Sean recognized the tremor in her voice and called her out for it: "I thought you had nothing to fear."

"The right thing?" Alex questioned.

Ruth shrugged. "He thinks it is the right thing. Would you say that Erik is your friend?"

Sean and Alex shared a glance. Hank looked away and fiddled with his glasses. None of them considered Erik a friend. He wasn't the sort of man one called 'friend', but if they did not like him, they still respected him. He pushed Sean and Sean learned to fly. He stopped the barrage of missiles flying toward them that day on the beach, he saved their lives…

No one counted Erik as a friend but no one wanted to call him otherwise, either. It was Hank who offered, "He's Charles's friend."

That settled the matter.

"Charles makes difficult promises," Ruth muttered.

Alex found himself wondering about the long driveway. No one really needs their own stretch of road. Xavier Road.

Road? Lane? Way?

Xavier Way, that seemed the most overbearing.

Two thoughts chased each other through Alex's mind: _rich people are weird_ and _how is it I'm not stoned right now?_ Usually he only thought things this goofy with a little nudge.

Then he realized.

"Anyone else terrified?"

"Oh yeah," Sean replied.

Hank nodded.

"Nothing can harm me," Ruth reminded them.

"Hey, Ruth needs a codename," Alex realized.

Or was Ruth too old, too serious for that? Codenames had been Raven's idea and Raven had easily been the youngest of them. Although others were physically younger, Raven, mentally, was the youngest. Alex remembered when Moira, Erik, and Charles found them all with the destroyed statue, how everyone else understood to act serious. Raven didn't. She was like a kid, couldn't even tell when she was in trouble.

Maybe it had been a silly idea, but they still tossed those names around.

Banshee. Beast. Havok.

"Girl of Steel," Sean suggested.

"Girl?" Ruth asked.

"Too long," Hank added.

Ruth cupped her breasts. "Girl?" she asked again. "Only if we make your codename Virgin Boy."

Alex laughed soda through his nose.

"It was a starting point."

"Whatever you say, Virgin Boy." This came, surprisingly, from Hank.

Sean flipped him the bird, but he was laughing as hard as the rest of them.


	6. Higher Need

Charles's teeth were clenched, his eyes narrowed, and his face a shade of pink few people had seen on him. Concern made a valiant attempt to scratch the fury in him but fury easily won out and three decades of practiced control faced a powerful enemy. He wanted to shout. He wanted to lash out and for a moment Erik almost hoped he would.

He wanted to see what happened when his friend lost control. He wanted to see Charles Xavier throw a top-notch temper tantrum.

It was shortly before nine o'clock, the time at which Erik's crew was meant to meet the X-Men at the gate. Erik had simply strode up to the door and now faced his one-time friend.

Finally something in Charles's eyes snapped. Erik felt a little spark of perverse hope—tantrum?—but Charles only shook his head. "You should have told me. First thing, you should have to me."

"I thought you were happy with our plan," Erik replied. Of course 'happy' wasn't the word, but 'satisfied' would have fit better if he were not trying so hard to be aggravating.

Charles admitted, "It is the best approach given the circumstances you told me last night."

"Where is it?" Erik asked. He did not know precisely where he needed to go, where they needed to go. As soon as he knew, Azazel would teleport them. Getting a location was simple enough, too. It was simple for Charles.

Of course he still had some version of Hank's amplification machine. Erik knew he would.

Recognizing the higher need, Charles gave a huff of indignation and turned his wheelchair. "This way."

Erik saw more than frustration and that omnipresent disappointment on Charles's face. Whose mind was he reading now? Not Erik's or he would have felt it. He had learned to recognize the feeling of telepathy. He was learning to resist it, too.

"Charles, you remember Emma, don't you?"

"Emma?"

"She turns into a diamond."

"Oh, yes."

"She's a very… educational… woman. I'll know it if you try to read my mind. I'll feel you in there."

Charles hated this. Erik was the best friend he'd ever had, closer to him even than Raven despite the brevity of their relationship. They found each other on very different sides of a strong debate. Nevertheless, Charles thought of Erik as a friend, wanted to help him.

_There will be no turning back from this._

He regretted saying that. There would be turning back. If Erik wanted to turn back, if he wanted to choose a different path—if only he would! Of one thing Charles remained certain: Erik could. He might never, but he could.

"Has Hank had any luck?" Erik asked, recognizing that Charles would say nothing further about reading his mind.

Charles nodded. "You can always count on Hank."

"What was that?"

Erik turned to peer down the corridor, but Charles didn't stop. "Just the cat," he said, dismissive.

"You have a cat?"

"No, Erik. There's a squadron of police officers waiting to arrest you around the next corner." Fastidious to the core, Charles was not one for messes. Anything that sloshed, spilled, or dribbled was probably the fault of one of the kids. That did not stop him, in his own rather refined way, dripping sarcasm.

In spite of himself, Erik tensed. He only spoke again after they turned that corner and nothing bad happened. "Where are you storing it these days, anyway?"

"We're nearly there."

They didn't speak the rest of the way, until Charles asked Erik to stay outside while he used Cerebro. Hank had not tinkered much with it—no point in fixing what already worked—so it was by the lab, where he had rebuilt it when they first moved here.

Amplifying his power was easy enough for Charles. The trick was controlling it once it had been amplified. Even without Cerebro he was powerful. With it, his mind ran away, his power grew. He felt every mind on the planet. It was all he could do, in that first moment, to hold onto who he was.

The first time he used it, he searched only for the slight variations in brainwaves that indicated mutants rather than humans. He had not needed to follow those waves, to glance into those lives, but he did for his own curiosity. He needed only to differentiate one from another. Sorting data was one thing.

Searching for one specific mind took longer, even a mind he knew. There were so many of them. Distance didn't matter, not with Cerebro, and that made his task that much more difficult.

Finally, he rejoined Erik. The look on his face was nothing shy of stricken. He ground his teeth until he could say, unemotionally but for the brokenness in his voice, "There should be a print."

Erik nodded. He held the paper with a series numbers, coordinates.

"Will you need a map?"

"No, this should do. Thank you."

"Of course, my friend."

Charles used that term on the beach after Erik crippled him. It sounded far more plausible then than it did now. This was the first time Charles said anything to Erik that sounded like a complete lie.

Erik nodded. He began to go, then paused. Sense told him to leave, to move, that he was really very far from welcome in this house at the moment. Against his better judgment, he asked, "How is she?"

"Fine." Coldly, the answer Erik gave to that same question, the lie he told last night.

"Charles—"

"Do remind Raven that she's welcome here. And that I would come for her, if I could."

Erik gave Charles a look that suggested he was immune to such insults. Charles stared the opposite back at him and Erik looked away first.

"I'll tell her."


	7. First Blood

"Can you teleport all of us at once?"

Azazel considered for a moment, then shook his head. "No. Too many," he declared. Eight of them stood just outside the gate: Alex, Hank, Ruth, and Sean had joined Erik, Emma, Azazel, and Angel. They formed a strange collective.

Hank watched the women, fascinated, though not as Alex and Sean were. Emma and Angel showed serious amounts of skin: legs, arms, midriffs. Ruth wore jeans and a dull sweatshirt. She immediately sized up the scantily clad women and raised a scathing eyebrow.

Not everyone's eyebrows scathed. In fact, it was a pretty rare talent. Ruth was not so very many years older than the others but had a way about her that made her seem like someone's mother.

"Take us first," Erik said, "then come back for them."

"How do we know you'll come back?" Sean asked.

"He will," Erik replied, dismissive. "Let's—"

"Hey—" Alex began.

Ruth interrupted, "He will come back." Her certainty helped, but did not dispel all doubt. They needed logic and she delivered it like a swift kick between Erik's legs: "They may not need us, but he needs Charles. On various levels, no?"

Erik narrowed his eyes. There was hardness in him, a toughness none of the others could match before. He was used to intimidating them. Even when they were all friends, not even Sean argued with Erik. Ruth looked right back at him and shrugged.

"Azazel," Erik said. He reached out to Emma and Azazel. Azazel took Angel's hand and they disappeared in the blink of an eye.

"Uh, Ruth?" Sean asked.

"Sabra," she said.

"Huh?"

"My codename," Ruth reminded them. It was the name she with which she introduced herself to Erik's little group. "Sabra."

"Sabra," Sean tried again, "I think I'd follow you to the end of the world."

A puff of black smoke heralded Azazel's return. He looked at the four remaining mutants and held out his hands. "Comrades?"

Ruth moved first, taking his hand and reaching for Hank's, and the others followed her lead. Only she among all of them had not been there that day last year, had not been on the beach, and something about Azazel seemed off.

Emma, Angel, and Erik were haughty. Ruth didn't care for them. Just like Erik, she played nice because she wanted this to go well. It mattered to Charles because he cared for Erik—no accounting for taste—and it mattered to Ruth because she didn't want those metal monsters coming after her friends or the children. But Azazel seemed pleasant and that didn't sit right.

She took his hand and the next thing she knew her feet hit a new floor. Her surroundings were simple enough: white walls, gray-blue carpet, flat lights overhead giving a faint buzzing. It was an office building, fairly commonplace but for the bodies on the floor beside them.

Sean stumbled. One of his feet had landed on someone's arm. It crunched—lucky he didn't need that arm anymore. Hank steadied him.

Ruth's attention was drawn elsewhere, to the small fireball flying at them.

She swatted it away like a gnat. It burst against the wall.

Alex retaliated, built up energy like spinning a hula-hoop and threw rings of red energy at Angel.

"Nyet!"

Azazel smoked across the room in a blink, grabbed Angel and teleported once more. Alex's rings blasted a hole in the wall; not a half-second sooner and they would have blasted Angel herself. And not lost a wink of sleep, Alex thought, her spitting fire at them!

"Hold," Ruth commanded.

The lads obeyed, although Hank growled threateningly. Angel, Azazel, and Emma likewise paused behind Erik and Ruth glared at the man under that helmet.

"Magneto." It was a command: she wanted an explanation.

"It was poor timing, she had not aimed at you," Erik replied.

His tone warned her to let it go.

Ruth considered. She disliked what had happened now, distrusted Erik and this situation seemed more like a set-up than an accident. It wasn't about revenge. She was responsible for the boys. Getting rid of those machines mattered, but not at the risk of life and limb. If they left right now, Erik and his would do the job. That was their other purpose, seeing that Erik did this without killing.

Without killing anyone else, anyway.

On the floor, on that ugly gray-blue carpet, lay two bodies. Their uniforms bore the logo of a security company. Erik's people had killed the guards.

Ruth nodded. "No more 'poor timing'," she warned.

"They saw us," Angel replied.

"Then you were not careful enough," Ruth retorted.

"Angel," Erik murmured. "Enough. Let's go."

"We still need to figure out where to go," Emma observed.

"I guess reading minds is out," Sean commented. He was clearly uncomfortable around the bodies and he wasn't the only one. Hank didn't like them much, either, and Angel made a point of not caring that clearly announced she felt otherwise.

"We'll be looking for a large space," Hank said. "The one Ruth and I took down, you couldn't store that in an office."

He glanced at Erik, who nodded to confirm that the machine they encountered had been bigger than an office, too. "Scout," Erik told Azazel. "Go room to room if you have to."

Hank stood by the elevator shaft, the one Alex sheared open. He peered down for a moment. "Banshee."

Sean joined him. "Yeah."

"How far down do you think that is?"

Sean began to lean into the elevator shaft, then paused. "If you let me fall and die, my ghost is coming back for you."

Hank grabbed the back of his shirt. He was easily strong enough to hold Sean if something happened, and Sean trusted that at least enough to send a quick wave of sound out. "At least a hundred feet," he reported.

"What is that?" Ruth asked.

"Over thirty meters," Hank explained. He turned to Erik, forgetting he was holding Sean's shirt until Sean gasped and yanked at the fabric choking him. "Sorry." Hank released him. He deserved the filthy look Sean gave in return. With a motion to Erik, "Can you get us down there?"

Erik nodded. "If I saw the point—the ground floor?"

"No," Hank replied. "Same place any respectable arch-villain conducts his disreputable business."

"In English?" Angel requested.

Erik, however, understood. The elevator rose to meet them as he explained, "We're going into the basement."


	8. Flair

All eight of them crowded into the elevator, elbows and shoulders poking into one another, as Erik lowered the metal box too swiftly for comfort. Ruth placed a protective hand on Alex and Sean the way one might a passenger in a car.

Erik did not crash the elevator. He stopped it a few inches from the bottom, slid the doors open, and stepped out. He gave his cape a toss as he did.

Alex glanced at Ruth and Sean and mouthed 'flair'.

Sean pressed a hand over his mouth, hiding a grin.

The group spilled drop by drop out of the elevator. Ruth brought up the rear. Her sneakers touched the hallway and Erik released the elevator. The resulting crash prompted more than a few flinches.

"We will not need this later?" It was not really a question.

"But who could resist," Erik answered Ruth, not asking either.

They had stepped into a brief hallway, ending abruptly at a set of metal doors. There was quite a bit of metal here. The walls and floor gleamed. It was difficult not to think that Erik, with a thought and a flick of his wrist, could undo hours of human labor.

Yet he did not slide the door open. He reached toward and frowned. "Care to do the honors?" he asked Ruth.

She shrugged. A keyhole on either side suggested how this door was meant to be opened. Ruth probably could have torn it open and she saw that Erik had handed this off because the metal was too much for him. Perhaps much of it was not metal, thus outside his control. Either way, he ceded rather than be seen to fail.

"Havok," Ruth said.

If Erik wanted to see _her_ fail, he would be disappointed. This was more suited to Alex's ability and Ruth's limitations did not embarrass her.

"Okay—get back."

There had not been enough time for Hank to build another uniform for Alex. Although he was learning to control his ability, it still matched his codename. The others were already moving to obey, Ruth and Emma instinctively placing themselves in front of the others.

The first round did damage but, to Alex's surprise, did not break through the doors completely. He channeled another round of energy, thinking that he really needed a better way to do this. Seriously—anything but hula-hooping.

At least the silly motion worked. After two blasts from Alex, the doors had pieces sheared out of them. Some metal still clung to the doorframe, deep gouges showing where Alex's power had not quite cut through.

He glanced back at the others and nodded.

Erik strode ahead, Emma only a step behind him. Ruth took a second to give Alex an approving nod. They never voted to make Ruth their leader. They didn't need to vote: by silent agreement, they followed her, not Erik. This was a brief and necessary alliance, not to be confused with trust.

They emerged in another metal-walled, metal-floored corridor, though the doors leading off this one were less solid. Crumpled pieces of metal mounted in the corners had been cameras before Erik arrived.

"I feel their machines this way," he said, indicating another door nearby.

Emma's diamonds melted back to human skin and her brow furrowed in concentration. "She's not far from here," she said.

"Who is?" Sean asked.

"Not your concern," Erik said, dismissive. "This comes first—"

"Raven."

Sean and Alex turned to Hank at this announcement. Hank didn't ask if he was right. He was used to being right and he knew his deduction was correct.

"That's kind of our concern," Sean informed Erik.

Maybe Raven chose to go with them, with the others, and it was difficult to accept that choice. There was a difference between disliking someone's choice and no longer caring about that person.

"This is more important," Erik replied. "Don't argue with me."

"We have eight," Ruth offered, "and a limit on time. They will have seen that their screens are black now." The cameras Erik destroyed would no longer send a picture. Of course, eight strangers would have caused a ruckus anyway. "Ms. Frost, you can find Raven?"

Emma nodded. "Absolutely."

"Havok, Banshee." They heard the implication and Ruth searched their expressions to see that they accepted the assignment. They did. "Go with her. The rest of us will see to the metal men."

"Shouldn't I go with them?" Hank asked. "Raven and I…" Ruth wasn't there. She didn't know. "We have, uh, she, that is, I was her friend. I might be needed."

Ruth gave her head a brief shake. "We need your mind and Ms. Frost will be their muscle. You stay with us."

"Sabra," Hank argued.

"Do not make the mistake of thinking you're the only ones to care for her," Erik snapped.

This time the expression in Ruth's voice was an acceptance of information for herself, not a message to another. It was the first time she had seen Erik crack. He was not haughty and his snide tone served only to poorly conceal that he took personal insult to Hank's implication.

Luckily Emma waded in, dampening the would-be argument by raining condescension all over it.

"He's right, sugar. Believe it or not," her eyes wide like a demonic fawn, "people who disagree with you can actually be decent sometimes, too."

"We don't have time for this." Erik managed to say that like he had not exacerbated the situation only fifteen seconds before. "Go. Hurry. We all have work to do."

Whatever their philosophy, no one disagreed with that remark.


	9. Only to Tear Down

Erik flicked his wrists and the metal doors flew open. This pair was thinner than the first, weaker, easily within his control. Although they knew what they might see, nothing really prepared them. The room stretched so far before them the far wall was difficult to see—though it would have been, anyway, through that forest of metal monsters.

No one spoke as they strode forward, even gentling their footsteps with respect to the funereal feeling the room gave them. It was a boneyard, not in purpose but in promise.

"Hank." Ruth spoke first, an unfamiliar hush in her voice. "They will have files. Find them. Azazel?"

Ruth had no business giving orders to members of Erik's band. She knew that and respected it.

Erik nodded. "Go with him. We meet outside." Nothing mattered more than the information. They would take care of the stock, but lost information meant no more produced.

Azazel reached for Hank and they disappeared in a puff of smoke.

"Angel—"

Youngest among them and perhaps, in this way at least, the most vulnerable, she stared at the things with her mouth open.

"Angel," Erik snapped. They had no time for this. "We need surveillance."

"Right." Wings peeled from her back and she took to the ceiling.

Only Erik and Ruth remained on the ground now. They looked at one another, unaware that each thought of the groups that had peeled away. Emma, Alex, and Sean would not have found Raven yet, they'd not had enough time, but were they all right? Would they find her? And Hank and Azazel—Erik and Ruth had the easy job. They had only to tear down.

"Ladies first," Erik remarked wryly.

"If I see any, I shall tell them," Ruth retorted.

Erik did not need to be any nearer, however, so Ruth moved first. This was so much easier with Hank to propel her to the machine's neck. Without him, she punched a hole in the plating on the thing's massive leg and peeled the metal back. Inside were gears and wires.

Ruth was compact and with some wriggling, she drew herself into the creature. When they brought one of these hideous things home, Hank examined its insides as a scientist does, Ruth as a soldier. She knew it would be a tight squeeze—and it was, metal tugging at her. It would have torn, were her skin not so strong. But she could make it.

There was more space once she reached the chest area. Hank assured her they required remote activation, but that did not stop Ruth worrying as she shimmed through the stuffy container. Only when she reached the neck did she pause.

The neck was too close for her. She punched another hole and climbed out onto the thing's shoulder, and from there tore through a fistful of wires. With her enhanced speed this took about a minute.

Ruth looked around. Angel was flitting overhead, near a crack in the ceiling too even to be anything but manmade. _They launch from underground_ , she realized. She looked straight up and saw that a similar crack showed above her. These were not soldiers—they were missiles.

She preferred that. Ruth knew soldiers. She was a soldier. She had lived, bunked, and broken bread with soldiers. Among them had been her friends and lovers and more than a few pains in the backside she couldn't stand. These machines were not, as soldiers were, human. They were weapons.

Ruth leapt from one shoulder to the next and wasted no time tearing into a second throat, tearing out a second round of wires. Hank assured her this would drop them—metaphorically, as they stayed upright.

She leapt to a third.

Erik remained on the ground, though he strode from one monster to another. They were large and while he might, if angry enough, have swept them all across the room, crushing them took a little more time. Erik crushed. It wasn't as simple as tearing out wires for him.

He didn't want it to be.

Charles wouldn't approve, of course, but then Charles wouldn't approve of many things Erik did these days. He didn't like anger, never mind how it helped. He didn't like revenge.

"When you report this to Charles," Erik began, sending his words to slice into Ruth, "as I have no doubt you will, know that this is an act of wrath." He sent one monster clattering into another.

She waited until the sound died down. His gesture was noisy and grand, but, "Foolish." She had leapt near enough now not to shout. "These took a full power blast from S—from Alex."

"From _Sean?_ " Erik didn't mean to run down Sean. He appreciated all of his brothers' gifts, but failed to see how sound waves were a sufficient indicator of strength.

"From Alex. Destroy them," she commanded clearly. "These things can come after my home, after my family, and I will not have it. If you wish to throw your toys like a child, destroy them first. Then throw them. Pee on them. Whatever."

Erik growled. He thrust his hand, palm-out, at the mess of machines. It squealed, whined… and flattened. "Satisfied?"

"Good boy."

"Hey!"

The shout came from Angel. Erik and Ruth turned. From her vantage point, Ruth had a better view of the massive room's second door. She had a view of the man standing there, too, and of the way he reached for a radio on the wall, and the way Angel brought her head back.

Ruth leapt down, grabbed the spatula-like hand of another machine and launched herself to the ground then bolted. She moved more swiftly than most. Now she really pushed herself.

Angel spat a fireball. It arced toward the man—he had his finger on the button, a burst of static spilled into the room—

Ruth crashed into the man, knocking him to the ground.

The fireball hit the radio. The man, whoever he was, surely worked here. The terror on his face as he looked up at Ruth was clear. She didn't belong here and that frightened him; he was used to this place and it had radically changed in an instant, someone was pinning him, and that frightened him; and he probably had never been on his back under a woman.

Ruth almost pitied him. He worked in this place, but she was used to people she would have liked to believe were enemies. Back in Israel, things would have been much simpler had she not understood that the Jordanians, Egyptians, Libyans, Syrians, they were people trying to live their lives. But she did. For all she knew this idiot beneath her thought he designed crop dusters.

She slapped the side of his neck, careful with the pressure. She had too much to protect, but she did not want to kill this man. With her speed and strength, she easily could.

After the man's body went slack, Ruth stood and faced the others. Their expressions said it all.

"No death," Ruth said, echoing Charles's specification about this mission. "No killing."

Erik opened his mouth, but a sound interrupted him.

An alarm shrilled through the base.


	10. A Special Kind of Stupid

Emma paused, shifting back to human form. Alex and Sean came to a halt behind her. This had happened several times before as they wove through this maze and the boys knew she was telepathically scanning for Raven.

After a few seconds, Emma turned the corner, shifting again as she ran.

The base was surprisingly populated for a Sunday evening. When they found themselves down the hall from two workers holding coffee mugs, Alex covered his ears. Sean yelped. He could reach a pitch high enough to knock himself over if he sustained it long enough, but less than a second incapacitated the two employees.

Leaving them on the ground, the mutants continued around the next corner. They had found a stairwell to take them one floor higher and the more turns they took, the more Sean and Alex hoped they would be able to find their way back.

Could they really trust Emma? Her telepathy allowed her to absorb information. They… well, they had Alex, who could just blast their way out.

"Here." Emma stopped once more. This floor, like the other, was all metal. The door had a keypad. Emma had anticipated that, ripped the code from a mind earlier, and now entered the numbers. The doors slid open.

"Emma!"

A little girl stood behind bars, eyes wide. She couldn't have been more than eight years old, a ponytailed blond thing. She was not in the best shape: smudges under her eyes told of a long while without sleep and there were splashes of sickly bruises across her face and arms.

Had there been any doubt as to her identity, she confirmed it with theirs: "Banshee? Havok?"

"Hey R—" Alex began.

Sean interrupted, "Hey, Mystique."

The little girl grew taller. Her skin turned blue and her clothing melted away, until Raven stood before them as herself, scaled and blue and just as worn down. The bruises stood out less now.

"Well? Get her outta there," Sean said.

"I'm trying," Emma snapped. The diamonds had once more faded from her skin. Now she stood, telepathic and vulnerable, trying to find the second code. She knew the keycode for the main door, but hadn't realized she needed a second one. She hadn't searched that far.

"I didn't think you'd come for me," Raven said. "I mean, I knew they would come," indicating Emma, "but I didn't think I'd see you."

Alex and Sean traded a glance, confirming that neither of them knew what to say to that. One didn't speak that way around Charles, that was for sure. Erik and Raven were dear to him and he had no trouble reminding Alex, Sean, and Hank that Angel had been a friend of theirs as well.

It seemed Erik held with a far less fond attitude.

Emma punched in a code. "Same one as the first door," she informed the others. "Idiots."

She strode into the cell, reaching her hand out to Raven. They really were a special kind of stupid, these people. They built robots to hunt and capture mutants, yet used a single security code for—

A metal panel fell behind Emma, trapping her in the cell with Raven. Sean and Alex turned. They had been found! The man in the doorway wore the same uniform as the guards Erik killed earlier. He held what looked like a two-way radio, but must have somehow allowed him to set off the alarm. In his other hand he held a gun.

Three sounds crowded into the room: first, the falling door; the blaring alarm; and nearly swallowed up by it, a gunshot.

"What's happening?" Raven called. The boys barely heard and had more pressing concerns than answering.

Sean yelped and the guard fell to his knees, then he stepped forward. He had not properly mastered that one-slap-to-the-neck technique no matter how Ruth tried to teach him. He settled for wrapping his hands around the man's neck and squeezing.

Behind him, Alex shouted, "Emma, cover her!"

He could only hope Emma understood before sending a blast at the cell door. The two girls emerged, diamond and blue, just in time to see Sean drop the guard's body.

"Oh my god, Alex!" Raven reached for the growing stain on his shirt.

Alex shook his head. "It's not bad." He kept his hands pressed against it. He kept bleeding—bullets weren't subtle things—but Alex was well enough to insist, "We have to go."

"C'mon!" Sean agreed.

They made a slow run for it. Emma took the lead. Raven kept up under her own steam, so long as they didn't rush. The alarm wasn't helping, but luckily no one had signaled where the intruders were. The mutants could only hope their friends had taken care of the machines by now.

When one among them kept falling behind, Sean took one of Alex's arms and laid it across his shoulders.

"Hey, man," Alex objected, "I don't swing that way."

"Everyone swings my way—Raven!" Sean warned. Emma seemed to have better resistance to his sonic blasts while in diamond form; Raven understood the warning and covered her ears.

One shout cleared the hallway.

They didn't have time to worry about this. They needed to meet up with the others as soon as possible, needed to get out of here. Azazel could take Alex to a hospital.

Getting down the stairs could have been easier. Raven tripped and Emma caught her; Alex and Sean made their way slowly, carefully, Alex gasping when the stairs turned and he hit the rail.

"Hang in there." Sean was not overly encouraging, breathless and more than a little frightened himself. "Almost there. Almost—Sabra!"

This was in reference to the woman standing in the hall. The others were there, too.

"We heard your shout," Ruth explained. Sean's voice carried more than a little. "Alex!"

"'m okay," Alex insisted.

Sean didn't believe him. From the looks on the others' faces, neither did they, and one glance told Sean why.

Alex's mouth was red with blood.


	11. Little Bloodshed

Ruth turned to Erik. They were in a bad situation; he knew that as well as she did. Their teleporter was outside. Hank and Azazel were safe—Azazel would see to that—so their worst case scenario was assured. Alex was bleeding, shirt and mouth stained red, red dribbling down his chin—they didn't have time.

"What can she do?" Ruth asked Erik, nodding at Raven.

"She's a shapeshifter."

"Shapeshifter or mimic? Can she take this ability, if she looks like diamond as well?"

Erik shook his head.

"Right. Ms. Frost, Magneto, with me. We clear the corridor. Banshee, Angel, defense. Keep safe the wounded. You remember how to get to the elevator? Yes? Left, right, right again."

Emma glanced at Erik, who nodded. They would take Ruth's orders—for now.

The corridors had all looked the same when they first walked through. As Emma, Erik, and Ruth headed back to the elevator, they found black marks at a T-juncture. Alex's power was useful but far from subtle. Around that corner were about a dozen security personnel. They were good, but no match for three mutants immune to bullets.

Ruth held up her hand and the others stopped. The security personnel must have heard them. A few seconds would only make them sweat.

"I do not want to hurt you," Ruth called. Erik and Emma maybe felt otherwise, but there was no reason to say as much. "We will walk out of here. Lay down your weapons. We walk past. Or, we fight you. I prefer we not fight. I think you prefer this too."

She waited. It felt like far too long, knowing how badly Alex was, not knowing that Sean and Angel were holding up as defense. Far too long, but they needed time to make the choice.

Only silence answered.

Ruth sighed. She gave the others a nod, a signal before blurring forward.

Her super-speed allowed her to reach the humans first. With the range on his abilities, Erik yanked the metal of their guns. What bullets they managed to shoot first bounced off of Ruth; one ricocheted into a nearby arm.

Charles wanted this mission completed with as little bloodshed as possible, no deaths. Ruth was inclined to agree. The man was a high-minded idealist with no real grasp of such situations; she had already seen that Erik was otherwise. Erik understood gray morality and collateral damage.

Ruth preferred aspiring to the standards of a man who did not. Their abilities were outside the realm of the mundane; their morals should then be likewise—aspiring to the moralizing of an erudite puppy. She liked that, erudite puppy.

So she took out as many of the security guards as she could. They were a private force, clearly trained, but limited. Perhaps they had trained as long as she had or longer, but she was stronger and faster—and she was protecting them.

She dropped them. A blow to the neck—a broken arm when someone made the mistake of attacking—punch to the heart. An innate danger in all of it, but better than what Erik would do. She heard the air scream as the first bullet tore through.

There were eleven men, all told. Ruth took down five. Emma broke two necks. Erik would have killed the remaining four, but Ruth shoved one aside. She wasn't faster than a bullet, just able to predict a predictable man. The last guard took a bullet to the shoulder.

"Banshee!"

The last body had not thudded to the ground when Ruth called out. She tore the sleeve from a dead man, bunched it up, and pressed it against the guard's bleeding shoulder. "Hold it," she said. Help would come. If he held the dressing in place long enough, tight enough, the man ought to be all right.

"Let him die," Erik recommended.

"I do not recall asking for your help," Ruth retorted. "We are here for safety, not revenge."

"There is safety in revenge, the only safety. A woman like you should know that."

The conversation ended there when Angel, Raven, Sean, and Alex limped into the short hallway and the group piled into the elevator. Erik raised it. When it came to a jarring stop, everyone hurried out. Then they only had a lobby to cross. It was strangely welcoming for the office building atop a factory for killer robots.

Only a lobby, and it wasn't a brief enough trip for Ruth's liking. She supported Alex on his other side now and she could smell the blood leaking out of him.

A popping sound heralded Azazel's arrival. He grabbed the Erik and Angel, who had an arm around Raven, and the four of them disappeared. Ruth had about half a second to think obscenities about Erik and his team—had they abandoned the others? Where the hell was Hank?—before Azazel popped back, grabbed Sean, and transported the rest of them.


	12. Conflict an' Stuff

Charles couldn't sleep. Rather than bother trying what he knew would be a fruitless endeavor, after the others left, he brewed a pot of tea and settled in with a good book. He should have reminded the kids that it _was_ a school night… but he hadn't the energy for it.

He hadn't the energy for much. Luckily _Animal Farm_ didn't tax his brain too heavily. He could read it, think on the others, and still have the presence to hear footsteps in the hallway.

Charles placed a bookmark on page 23. He had been waiting.

"Scott."

A moment later, he appeared in the doorway. "Hi."

Not for the first time, Charles reflected that Scott needed a decent pair of jeans. Or he could try wearing something besides jeans—though one had to pick one's battles—but jeans without gaping holes at the knees would be an improvement. And pajamas. The weather was turning and Scott still slept in boxers and a t-shirt that was mostly rag. Anyone would think that boy wasn't being looked after properly.

But it wasn't something Charles knew how to talk about and certainly not now.

No, they both had more important things to worry about at the moment. Charles had read Raven's thoughts for only a moment, only long enough to pin down a location. It was long enough to feel her distress. She was in pain and would be in danger—so he understood how Scott felt about his brother's current absence.

"Tea?"

"Yes please."

Scott moved to take the gum out of his mouth, caught the look on Charles's face, and promptly swallowed. He settled into a chair, legs tucked under him. It didn't stop him picking at the loose threads, but it helped.

Charles passed him a cup of tea. He didn't understand Scott's behavior where that was concerned: he never made his own tea although he knew how, always had that same mildly disgusted look on his face when he drank it, but never refused a cup and was very protective if anyone tried to take it away.

"What are you reading these days?"

" _Cannery Row_. It's a John Steinbeck novel."

"I'm shocked," Charles replied evenly. Scott had been fond of Steinbeck for some time and was still a little giddy—as much as Scott experienced giddiness—to have full library access in town.

"It's really… well… it's not really about anything, just the characters. And the Depression. I—I don't… remember…"

Charles watched, gauging Scott's calmness as he searched his tangled memories. It was quite the sinister maze, Scott's mind, memories mixed up and pushed down and taken away, and Charles was prepared to offer him help if needed.

Scott shook his head. "Do you? Remember the Depression, I mean?"

"Very vaguely. I was only a child, I didn't understand."

Charles knew that others his age might remember better, having been in far less comfortable circumstances. Only on reflection as an adult did he appreciate everything he had at that time, everything he perhaps had no right to. It was somewhat embarrassing, really, to sit here with someone who had never in his life had anything to call his own.

Scott must have been entertaining thoughts along similar lines, because he asked, "What was it like to grow up here?"

In truth, it was hard. His mother was a very reserved woman and his stepfather was… complicated. Charles was very lonely until he met Raven and none too eager, now, to discuss her. Sometimes giving an honest answer was difficult—he was scarcely going to tell an orphan that he knew anything about loneliness.

"Not so different from growing up anywhere else, in a way."

Scott nodded. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that growing up here was completely different from growing up anywhere else, but he wasn't one to argue at the best of times. Now he just nodded and chewed at his thumbnail.

"I never really—never knew how to say it, but—thank you. For taking me in."

"You have said that," Charles pointed out, "and you don't need to."

"Well—and for letting me keep Artie," the stray cat he brought home last year, "and for… the past month… all the bullshit with me and Alex."

"I beg your pardon, all the what?"

"Um, conflict," Scott amended, "an' stuff. I know we kinda turned your life upside down. And I'm sorry for—it was my fault."

It was no good telling him that neither apology nor gratitude was needed. Shelter was a right: a person ought to have a roof over his head without having to be grateful for the privilege. Charles wasn't sure if Scott was saying it because he needed to fill the silence or because he saw this as an ending.

Either way, "He'll be all right, Scott."

"Yeah."

"I know Alex."

"He's my brother! I should be there, I—it's my job to protect him!"

"I believe he feels he's protecting you. He'll come back," Charles promised.

Scott nodded again, unconvinced.

"And my life needed a bit of turning upside down."

The two sat in silence for a while, until Doug joined them.

"You couldn't sleep either?" he guessed.

Scott shook his head.

"Yeah, me too."

Even the normally verbose Doug had little to say. Finally he suggested, "Cards?"

"'kay. Professor?"

Charles raised his eyebrows, at first not understanding what Scott meant. "Oh—I think I'll sit this one out." And while he continued to hate being here while the others were in danger, to hate this fresh wave of uselessness, he was glad Ruth wasn't around to make a joke about sitting and paraplegia.

Doug and Scott played half a round of War before Ororo joined them. Scott collected the cards and shuffled. "Bluff?" he suggested. The others nodded.

"Doesn't this game have another name, though?" Doug asked.

"You use that name if you wanna," Scott replied.

"What is it?" Ororo asked.

The boys glanced at one another, then Scott said, "One ace," laying down the card.

They made it three rounds before Doug began to laugh. "Bluff."

Ororo didn't move, so Scott went to turn over the three cards she had just tossed down. "Hey!"

"He called your bluff," Scott explained. "That means you have to show 'em."

Ororo moved her hand and Scott flipped the cards over. There was a three, a king, and a ten. Ororo grumbled, but she took the cards.

She might have lost the game, but Laurie joined them and they started a new game to include her.

"Hey, you deal this time," Scott said, handing the deck to Doug. While Doug dealt, Scott went and sat on the floor beside the Professor.

"Wouldn't you rather play with your friends?"

Charles wasn't surprised when Scott shook his head. He knew Alex would be fine, of course. Scott couldn't have found his brother after all this time just to lose him.

He took a piece of bubblegum from his pocket, unrolled it and popped it into his mouth.

_What goes in hard and pink and comes out soft and wet?_

"I know."

They did not have long to wait.

Alex _would_ be okay—Scott kept telling himself so—told himself that when they heard the front door open, he only scrambled to his feet so quickly to confirm what he already knew. His brother was fine, was safe, of course, couldn't be otherwise. He just needed one glimpse to confirm that.


	13. Tits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter ended with the X-Men returning to the mansion.
> 
> Shortly before that...

Azazel, Sean, Alex, and Ruth didn't go far, landing on the eggshell-white carpet in some executive's office several floors straight up. The others were already there. It was the sort of office that looked like the living room of a psychopath: comfortable and wholly unused, completely for appearance because someone would stab you if you sneezed on one of those chairs.

Emma's diamonds melted. She frowned in concentration, telepathically scanning the area, then took a seat behind the desk. This was, after all, a place of business.

"Alex!" Hank exclaimed.

"Now we see if those machines of yours work," Erik said.

The mission had been put off for a day so that Hank could build signal jammers and supposedly he had done so. They were only safe now if those little boxes worked. Otherwise they were sitting ducks with mangled radios in their pockets.

Hank barely acknowledged that Erik had spoken as Sean and Ruth laid Alex down. He didn't have enough left in him to stand.

"Hold his head," Ruth instructed.

Sean obeyed, keeping Alex from lying flat. He didn't know if that would help. They had trained for defensive, trained to fight, but never discussed what to do if something went wrong. Now he obeyed Ruth. Maybe he didn't know how to help, but he knew that Alex deserved better than to die on the floor.

"What happened?" Hank asked.

The others formed an awkward semi-circle. Death was not, as they well knew, a spectator sport. But it wasn't to be ignored, either. Raven had her hands over her mouth and she was shaking slightly. The others were more stoic, except Emma, who lounged indifferently.

"Shot," Sean replied, explaining the situation.

Hank crouched beside them. "Jesus, Alex."

"Yu—" Alex tried, then paused to cough out blood.

Sean helped him sit up higher.

Ruth grabbed Alex's shirt and tore it open. The wound wasn't big, but it was bloody.

"Did it go out?" Ruth asked. When no one answered, she snapped, "The bullet! Is the bullet in him now?"

She felt Alex's back, felt the lack of blood, then turned to Erik.

Alex, meanwhile, couldn't make his thoughts focus: "Shit, man, I'm gonna die," he told Sean. He couldn't see Sean's face, but the others saw the devastation there. Sean knew. To no one in particular, "I really wish I'd seen more tits. Emma? Yours look nice."

"Take it out," Ruth told Erik, still referring to the bullet.

"Someone's gotta tell Hayley," Alex realized. He hadn't seen his adoptive sister in a long time, but they talked on the phone every week. He loved her. "Sean—Charles knows how to—make it sound good, okay? Make her think I died right."

Sean swallowed and his eyes welled up. "I will."

"And look after Scott. A lot to ask, I know, but—"

"I will," Sean agreed.

It was strange, really, to think how long he hadn't known Alex. They felt like such good friends, but it had been a couple weeks, then months of the occasional phone call or postcard—but Alex still felt like one of the closest friends Sean had ever known.

Maybe it was because they were mutants. They didn't have to hide around each other.

"What are you waiting for?" Ruth asked Erik. "Take out the bullet."

"No, don't," Hank said. "Erik, you can't. You leave it in, that's—"

"I said take it out!" Ruth snapped.

She had a way of sucking the noise from the room. Hank was too intimidated to argue.

"Erik?"

Alex interrupted the silence, then coughed again, and no one had any doubt what was happening. Sean was behind Alex or he would have put more effort into not crying, not letting his friend see the tears streaking down his face.

As for the rest, who gave a damn? Sean didn't care what Azazel or Raven or anyone else thought of him. He cared about Alex. He cared a hell of a lot more about Alex than a traitor like Angel or a bastard like Erik.

"Please." Blood dripped from Alex's mouth, leaving tiny bubbles on his lips. "I don' wanna die with this in me."

Erik nodded. He reached toward Alex and felt for the metal lodged in him. Most he could do was avoid the bones as the bullet ripped out of Alex, eliciting a groan of pain.

"It's okay," Sean offered, like Alex didn't know, "it's out."

"Hey, Angel—can I see your ti—"

Ruth interrupted Alex, kissing him.

They were not particularly close, Ruth and Alex. She cared about him, but nothing that suggested she loved him. Alex wasn't protesting it, though, and if he was getting a bit of fun mercy before he kicked off, he was okay with that.

Ruth pulled away sooner than Alex would have liked. When she was kissing him, she made it not matter. He hurt less with her mouth on his. And now she was stained with his blood.

"What was—" Erik began.

He paused when he saw what happened next. Ruth stayed close to Alex, breathing into his mouth, only she seemed to breath something more like mist than air. Something passed between them like a ghost of twined sinew.

They could have heard a pin drop on the now very stained eggshell carpet, they were that quiet. All of them just stared. Sean made huffing sounds, still trying uselessly to hide that he was crying, the only thing that broke the silence.

Then Alex began to cough again. He leaned forward, spitting as much as coughing to clear the blood from his throat. Another stain settled into the carpet as Alex spat blood and saliva. He took the ragged edge of his t-shirt and stuck it in his mouth, soaking up the mess there. He ran a hand along the bloody smears on his torso, feeling for the bullet wound.

Alex looked up at Ruth. The expression on his face could only be described as awe: he realized what she had done for him. He didn't know how, but he knew what.

"So, uh… no tits, then?"


	14. Home

Travel with a teleporter was very simple. Everyone joined hands and in the blink of an eye, they were outside the mansion. The office building disappeared and everyone's eyes adjusted slowly to the light of the moon, the stars, and a few cheery windows.

Ruth offered her hand to Erik. After a moment, he shook.

"You are a cold, efficient man and I would never trust you with my life or those of my friends," she stated, "but you are the man to get the job done."

"And you are an insufferable woman," he returned, "and indispensable in a fight. If you ever tire of his moralizing and naïve sermons—you know better, I think. You would be welcome among us."

"I enjoy the moralizing. Like an erudite puppy."

"Aw, just screw and get it over with, you two," Sean teased.

"Yeah. I needa go in an'… bed." Alex's energy was swiftly dwindling.

Sean and Alex started toward the house.

"I'm going, too," Raven announced. "Just for a minute. Come with me?" The last was directed at Erik.

Ruth hesitated. "This may be… not the best idea."

"No," Hank said. He shook his head. "No, Charles will want to see her."

Emma and Azazel, to whom Charles meant nothing, elected to wait outside. Angel did, too. This had been enough for her, working with Sean and Alex again.

This late, somehow, they thought the others might be asleep.

If he knew his little brother would be standing there the second he walked through the door, Alex would have tried to do away with the blood. His face was bloody. His chest and abdomen were bloody. His t-shirt was not only bloody but ragged and torn.

It wasn't how he wanted Scott seeing him. Not the one of the pair who remembered their parents' death.

"I'm okay," he said. He tried to hold his jacket together, hiding some of the blood.

"But—you're—you look—"

"He's okay," Sean assured him.

Scott wasn't convinced. That much was clear.

The other students clustered behind Scott, looking curious and concerned but none so upset. Charles looked more patient. He saw that Alex and Sean were, while not in the best state, well and whole.

"Hey—c'mere." Alex motioned Scott over and hugged him. Ninety percent of the time, Alex didn't hug. Now he was too relieved and too tired to care. It was a drop of comfort and a good dealing of leaning, but there was affection in it, too. "I'm not goin' out that easy."

"So."

Erik stood just inside the door. Raven, looking like Angel, stood beside him, both looking between the gaggle of children and a man they never thought would opt to work with the less mature set. Charles, working with the under-eighteens? Now Erik understood his friend's reluctance to let him wander the halls, insisting the others meet him at the gate.

"This," he realized, "is what you tried to keep from me."

Alex maneuvered himself and his brother away from the situation—"I really need to turn in, I'm runnin' out of sand here." That was addressed at Charles, partly explanation and partly request for permission. The slight nod was all he needed. "Help me out here, twerp, make yourself useful."

It was a kick in the danglers for his pride, but it got the job done.

Erik was a powerful speaker and his reasoning was difficult to dispute. He offered a surety Charles did not, a chance to protect oneself while Charles wanted to protect others. Purely on his own moral convictions, Alex stayed with the X-Men, but Erik's side had very tempting rhetoric.

It wasn't a choice his little brother needed to face.

Charles turned to Ruth and asked, "Are you all right?"

"Yes, of c—oh," she realized. She had kissed Alex not ten minutes ago and still had his blood smeared across her mouth. "Yes, it belongs to someone else. Don't suppose I shall return it. You have discovered my secret vampirity, I see."

"Vampirism," Doug piped up.

That proved to be a mistake. Before, the adults were aware of the students but had more pressing matters. Now their attention was on the teenagers.

"And I assume this is no longer a school night for the rest of you," Ruth stated, giving the students a meaningful look. She had stepped away from being a soldier, a fighter, whatever she had been. Now she was a teacher again and not happy with her students.

"But—" Ororo objected.

"C'mon." Laurie started to tug her down the hallway by her t-shirt.

"Quit it!"

"Enough," Ruth snapped. "I am counting, you have until _eser_."

"Until what?" Laurie asked.

"Until—" Doug began. His ability allowed him to understand anything he heard or read, regardless of the language. He was clever enough to see when Ruth's expression meant 'shut it, right now', and obeyed.

"If I did not know, I would hurry," Ruth advised.

"C'mon," Ororo taunted, tugging at Laurie's t-shirt.

Doug gave a long-suffering look before heading after the two bickering girls.

"I never imagined you would have children around," Erik commented, "not voluntarily."

"Neither did I," Charles admitted. He did not point out that it hadn't been voluntary, not at first. No one forced him to take Scott in, besides needing to be able to look at himself in the mirror.

"So what is this, some sort of school?"

"That's exactly what it is." Charles leaned aside, getting a better look at the girl behind Erik. He recognized Angel, of course. More than he recognized her face, though, he recognized the mind inside it. "Will you come in?"

"We don't have time," Erik replied. "A school, Charles? You were going to be a genetics professor, now you teach the ABC's. How could you let this happen to yourself?"

"Erik—" Charles began, harsh and cold. How could Erik—of all people—the man responsible for his paraplegia—how dare he!

Charles stopped at a gentle hand on his shoulder. He rarely understood her thoughts. Ruth thought in Hebrew, the cadences and syntax a language very different to those Charles understood. This one he heard loud and clear: _if you are ashamed of them, I am ashamed of you._

"I don't need to explain myself to you and there is nothing wrong with what I am doing here. Some of their mutations are dangerous—to them or those around them," he said. "I would think you of all people could appreciate the need for mutant children to be protected."

"Mutants." This made more sense to Erik. "All of them?"

Charles nodded. "Every one."

Erik looked around. He had been in this building before and it had changed little, but he seemed to see something different this time. "This is your home and little would cause me to bring any conflict here, but so long as this is a home for young mutants," he declared, "it has my protection."

From the look on Charles's face, he was neither thrilled nor certain about that protection. "It's a home for _all_ mutants," he said. "That includes you, if you want it."

"Good night, Charles."

"Good night, Erik." Before they turned to go, Charles added, "Raven?"

She paused. "You knew."

"Of course."

Angel's form melted away. Her hair became red, her skin became blue, and something akin to scales grew over patches of her body. She lacked the intimate physical characteristics usually kept concealed and, as such, was naked.

He wasn't comfortable with that, but he didn't flinch. The pity in her eyes was more difficult.

Over the past year, Charles had become so accustomed to what he now was, he sometimes forgot it was new to others. He was used to being in a wheelchair. Necessaries in the house were adjusted. Thanks to Hank, Charles had access to the bomb shelter. He could dress and bathe himself and was over the shame of those being accomplishments.

He missed things. Of course he did. Having so many able-bodied young people around reminded Charles that while he had never goofed around the way they did, now he no longer had the option. He couldn't run or wrestle or play football. He couldn't do other things, too—well, he could, but not that anyone would—not now, not with him being as he was—as Ruth's presence reminded him.

But he was still a complete person, in his mind and his life if not his body.

Raven looked at him and saw a cripple. She saw him broken and there had been a time Charles would have agreed with her.

"Raven."

He reached out to her and she froze.

"It's not a choice, Raven. You do what you need to do, but when you are ready to come home…"

Raven reached toward him. "You'll let me?" she guessed.

Charles shook his head. "No," he said. "I'll welcome you."

Her fingers brushed against his and she flinched back like she had been burned. Without another word, Raven turned away.

Erik turned to leave with her. He paused just long enough to look Ruth in the eyes. She stood behind Charles and that moment of eye contact decidedly excluded him. "If you change your mind…"

"I adore puppies," Ruth replied.

Erik smiled a grim, cold, disturbingly happy smile.

Then they left, him and Raven, leaving the entry hall suddenly very empty with four people crowded into it.

"So, uh…"

Hank hadn't spoken since walking through the door. The look on his face then left 'awkward' in the dust.

"Debrief," Ruth suggested. "Tomorrow morning, perhaps?"


	15. Seatbelts Should be Worn at all Times

"Tell me about last night," Charles began.

"Alex got shot—" Sean began.

Ruth held up a hand to silence him. "From the beginning," she said.

She, Sean, Alex, Hank, and Charles sat at the dining room table. They had no better place for this. It was Monday morning. The kids were either still asleep or enjoying a lack of supervision as the adults gathered for a debriefing of last night's mission.

Sean tried again, "Two guys were already dead when we got there…" He described what happened, with Hank and Alex interjecting details at turns, until they reached the elevator. "And Ruth had her hand out, at me and Alex, like you would in a car."

"This is because people do not use seatbelts," Ruth replied.

"Of course not, they're pointless," Alex said.

"No they're not," Hank said. "They're not pointless—people think seatbelts are a waste of time and money, but automotive accidents are a leading cause of death—"

"Okay," Alex ceded. "Seatbelts should be worn at all times. Got it."

Hank gave him a sour look but let the subject lie there. Someone who had only last night faced the reality that he could very soon _die_ ought to be more concerned with taking dangerous risks. Hank was not overly fond of Alex, but he didn't like the idea of him being hurt or killed, either.

They recounted the rest of the previous night's events, taking turns and rarely asking. Ruth and Alex were the most focused, Sean the most emotional, and Hank the most concerned with technical accuracy.

Hank's story was easily the calmest. He and Azazel found the main office easily enough. Once the disorienting effects of teleportation wore off, it was simply a matter of looking through papers to find the information he needed. If Hank didn't know how to do that, he scarcely would have been useful in grad school. Ruth's tale, likewise, passed simply. Alex and Sean corrected each other and stepped on one another's stories, but the facts made their way out.

Then, after they joined up and took refuge above the base, "…I thought I was done."

"Me too," Sean chimed.

Hank nodded that he, likewise, thought Alex would die. "But then Ruth—Ruth kissed him."

Something in Charles knotted. He had been calm, but that cracked his reserved demeanor. " _What?_ "

"Ruth kissed Alex," Sean confirmed, "and he… healed. She healed him."

"I'm sorry," Charles interrupted, halting the narrative, "I'm afraid I don't understand. What happened?"

"I'd like to know that, too," Alex chimed. "Not that I'm not grateful, Ruth. I am."

"That's why you made Erik take the bullet out," Hank realized.

Ruth nodded. "And you were correct, in different circumstances the best approach is to leave the bullet in. This stops all kinds of further damage."

"You shouldn't have argued with her, Hank," Charles commented, earning an incredulous look from Hank. How was Hank to know Ruth had healing powers? Moving quickly along, "And you have to kiss him to do this?" This was addressed to Ruth.

"I have never done it another way," she acknowledged. "Willing my ability into someone, it is not enough, I need… exchange, perhaps, the… contact. It has never worked another way."

Charles nodded.

"You gave him your ability?" Sean asked.

"It seems to be only the healing I can share."

"What if something happened to you?" Alex wondered.

Ruth shrugged. "It seemed unlikely. Your death seemed likely. This is why I waited until we are safe. It was a field situation, as much as I would have liked to share my gift to you the moment I saw you were hurt, I needed to wait until, as I said, until we were all safe."

Alex nodded to show that he understood. He could have died—but then, had the bullet been off by even a handful of inches, he never would have made it to Ruth.

"If this is going to become a regular thing, we might want to go back to those awesome costumes."

'Awesome' had been sarcastic, but Hank just rolled his eyes at Alex, knowing he really did want the costumes.

"They'll offer a degree of protection mere skin won't," Hank agreed. "Well, except Ruth's."

"Hank, don't be absurd," Alex retorted. "We can't peel off Ruth's skin and use it as armor!"

"I didn't mean—"

"Yeah," Sean agreed. "Nothing cuts her. And when did we decide this would happen again?"

"We may not have a choice," Charles reasoned. "We want to live peacefully, but Erik does not want the same thing. The people who built these machines do not want the same thing. What we want, put simply, is of little consequence."

Hank, Sean, and Alex were clearly affected by this information.

"You did well last night. All of you. Trust," she told Hank, "when you protected the information, although I know you would have liked to return to your teammates. Courage," to Sean, "to what you did for Alex. And for doing well. Alex is well, _baruch ha'Shem_ , but you did everything right when it was otherwise. And Alex, you nearly died and you have yet to question what right any of us have to ask such a thing of you."

From the look on Charles's face, he did not appreciate Ruth taking control of the situation, but he kept quiet about it.

"I think this is enough for now."

"I'll, uh, I should work on the uniforms," Hank said.

"Thank you, Hank," Charles offered, but there was a gap of dissatisfaction in Hank's voice and that one remark was not enough to bridge it.

He didn't ask what Sean and Alex were up to. They deserved some free time. When it was just Ruth and Charles remaining, she told him, "Go ahead. You have something to say."

Before he found the words, Doug stepped into the room carrying a bowl of cereal and whistling a somewhat pained, disjointed rendition of "Love Me Do". He paused when he saw the two teachers. "Oh—sorry—I misperceived, er, inaccurately assumed I suppose, availability."

Ruth and Charles shared a glance.

"We're through here," Charles said.

Ruth said good morning to them both, turning the phrase into a goodbye, and left to review her lesson plans for that day. Last night she was a soldier. Today she was a history teacher.

Doug took a seat. He had misread the situation before. Now he hesitated, thought better of it—thought better of thinking better—and finally blurted, "I was distracted from the translation this weekend." His ability allowed him to understand all written and spoken language. Training was meant to help him recognize whether the language he perceived was English or not. "The thing is, it's fascinating."

Charles smiled, recognizing that Doug was starting a conversation rather than giving an excuse. "The _Pensees_ , wasn't it?" he asked.

The past year had asked him to re-evaluate much of his life. He wasn't the academic he had once been and academia meant something different for most teenagers. With Doug, however, Charles felt a glimmer of his old life.

Most of the time, he did not miss it, but he was still that man. He still enjoyed conversations in which he taxed his brain just to understand the other person.


	16. Aftermath

Thursday evening, as he drove the last few blocks to the mansion, Alex could not stop thinking about the little device in the glove compartment. It was meant to shield them from those robots but gave no sign that it was working, not a tremor, not a hum. Hank had deemed attaching a small light bulb 'unnecessary and wasteful', so Alex had only his say-so.

"So what was it?"

Scott sat in the passenger seat, a sheet of folded notebook paper in his hands. When he asked for a ride to the library, Alex didn't ask any questions. Scott went to the library all the time. Not usually on a Thursday night, but it wouldn't be the first time he "absolutely needed" a book.

Only, rather than bringing home a book, Scott brought out paper.

"It's for Ororo," he explained.

"You think _your_ handwriting is gonna help someone who already can't read English?"

"She can read English. She needs a little extra time, but she can read it. Anyway, I went slowly, like the Professor said."

It didn't help much. Scott was careful, but his fine motor skills limited him.

"Hey—you think you'd wear a seatbelt, if the car had 'em?"

"Probably not," Scott replied, "why?"

"Something Hank said."

"What?"

Alex parked and took the keys out of the ignition. "Twerps cause car accidents."

"Hank said that?" Scott asked, his tone suggesting that Alex could've come up with a more plausible lie.

"Yeah, he did. It was something to do with the, uh, magnetic energy waves interfering with the—"

"Seatbelts?"

"Hey, don't blame me, it was Hank who said it. He didn't wanna tell you, but I said you were man enough to take it. You are, right?"

"Jerk."

"Twerp. You going to open the garage for me or not?"

Scott rolled his eyes and went to open the garage door. The thought of punching Alex in the arm flitted through his mind, but he decided against it. Alex was stronger and could hit harder. Instead Scott did as Alex asked, then waited to head inside with him.

"So what'd you bring for Ororo, anyway?"

"It's a speech by Oppenheimer," Scott explained.

"Huh."

"Father of the atomic bomb."

"Sounds like one hell of a birth," Sean quipped, joining them.

"Fathers don't give birth, dumbass," Alex retorted.

"No, I know that—it was—why are we talking about atomic bombs?"

"Scott thinks he'll help Ororo."

"Huh?"

"Yeah," Alex agreed, "that's what I said."

"I think a speech by Oppenheimer might—she was scared after the robots."

Unfortunately the hallways intersected there and Ororo, just leaving her bedroom, asked, "Who was scared after the robots?"

Alex and Sean shared a glance and grinned. Scott was going to pay for that.

"Um, you," he admitted.

Apparently he knew it, too.

"I wasn't _scared_ ," she said. "Anyway, they took care of it. Right?" she asked Sean and Alex.

"Uh…" Sean froze up. He knew they hadn't 'taken care of it', not really. They stopped production of the robots for now. But someone created those things once, someone apparently already afraid of mutants. Having their base destroyed by mutants was not going to help.

"Well, we're not going anywhere," Alex promised. "Whatever happens, we'll be here to save you damsels."

This was said with a look at Ororo, but it was Scott he pulled into a headlock. Scott squirmed, but he gave Alex a few seconds before trying to stomp on his foot. Alex moved out of the way in time and let go, giving Scott a chance to drop back and grab his papers.

He glanced at his brother and thought for a split second. Scott was behind the others. He had a certain advantage…

When he heard someone yelp, Charles sent out a telepathic scan. "Nothing to worry about," he reported.

"Of course," Ruth replied, "this is Alex."

Charles poured himself a drink and passed another to Ruth. It wasn't often he drank. There were too many kids in the house and too many Seans and Alexes to have alcohol easily accessed. He trusted Ruth as much as anyone, though, and she metabolized alcohol in a snap. The strange thing was that instinct told him to look away when he met her eyes—like she might see something in his.

"Alex isn't Superman."

Ruth raised an eyebrow. "Do you remember that first time I came here, what I said to you?" Off Charles's blank look, she supplied, "I said I will teach Scott to defend himself. Of course," at another cry, "Alex will have the better of him for some time."

Charles asked, "Are you sure that's…"

"Normal," Ruth assured him.

He nodded.

Before the beach, before the wheelchair, Charles never had trouble with women. He didn't need to worry since he used his telepathy to gauge their interest and then it was a game. Flirting really was an art, each move delicately more of 'I want you' and of 'come get me'.

He couldn't read Ruth's mind. Even if he could, he would not, not on this subject. He already knew no one would think… not about a cripple…

And now it was like she knew. Usually she reached out to him, touched his arm. Today she didn't.

"You have not asked, Charles."

"I'm sorry?"

"The question. You have been patient, we have some time now. About Alex and I."

As soon as he heard how Ruth saved Alex, Charles had questions. One resounded louder than the others in his mind. He told himself he needed the right time to ask, that it was a question without an easy answer and they needed to have the discussion some time when they wouldn't be interrupted, that he needed to find the words.

He knew that, in truth, he was afraid of the answer.

When Charles didn't ask, Ruth reached for his hand. He had barely noticed it idling by the chessboard. Usually her touch was a comfort, but now it made him feel more alone

"No," she said. "I cannot heal you. I have never given my ability to someone not in such circumstances—not dying. You are not injured."

"I am…"

"You were," she corrected. "You were injured. And your body healed. And now you are whole."

"I'm—"

Ruth squeezed his hand. "Whole."

"Erik is so different," Charles said, and he would have sworn he saw a flash of anger in her eyes. It faded so quickly he decided he must have been mistaken. "Or perhaps not—perhaps he's the man he has always been, the man I didn't want to see. It's so difficult to believe he's gone. Even that I knew him for so short a time! We're alike, he and I, but what he's been through…" He paused, then, "Why didn't you tell me you were a healer?"

Like it was so simple, so easy, Ruth said, "Because I thought you would ask me to heal you and I cannot."

Charles looked at his glass. It was true, what Ruth said. He would have pursued the potential chance to walk again. All this time, he had been at home minding the children while the others were out there defending mutantkind.

"Is your life so bad?" Ruth asked.

The question snapped him out of his thoughts.

"No, of course not."

"So empty, then?"

Charles sighed.

He found the children telepathically: Doug was playing a card game with Alex and Sean; Laurie was alone, but she didn't mind, her tongue poked between her lips as she focused on painting her toenails just right; not a child at all, Hank sat in his lab, reviewing results of previous experiments on tensile strength; Ororo leaned against Scott, who helped her with the longest words in the worst handwriting.

"You never let a man sulk, do you, Ruth?"

"Real men know when they are beaten."

Charles raised an eyebrow. When his incredulous look failed to intimidate Ruth, he muttered, "Now there's an idea."

Ruth laughed whisky through her nose.

"And stop wasting my good booze!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you've enjoyed the story. The next in this series will be posted soon. And I hope you'll enjoy that one, too.


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